


Temptation Is

by Tat_Tat



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tat_Tat/pseuds/Tat_Tat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Layton remembers Claire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Temptation Is

Temptation doesn't hit the professor. It reaches out shyly. As her arms wrap around him, he kisses her innocently, and then one day his hand absently slips under her shirt, fingertips lightly tapping at the curve of her back. She shivers, making a small noise, and it hits him with such force that he pulls not only his hand from under her clothing but also himself completely away from her. A bead of sweat falls down his brow. They look at each other and then away.

“I think... we shouldn't be in the same room alone anymore,” Hershel says with forced calm.

Claire looks at him, but not straight at him. “You didn't offend me, Hershel,” she says. She can still feel his hand at the small of her back, reaching upwards, grazing her bra clasp, and she can hear the hitch of his breath against her ear. Her head swims as she thinks about it, and heat as intense as the flush on her face fills her body, intensifying downwards. 

“Whether I have or not isn't what I'm concerned about. I almost did something irresponsible.”

“I know. I was irresponsible as well.” 

“In this sort of situation, it is I who is at fault.”

Claire crosses her arms and looks at him disconcertingly. “Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I don't want the same thing.”

Hershel doesn't know how to properly respond to her, so he coughs away the subject and offers her her coat. Walking her back home, he jerks his stray, perverse thoughts away with puzzles. His hand twitches in hers. It's criminal to even hold her hand anymore. 

They don't kiss goodnight at her doorstep, though she waits for him, hopeful. A simple kiss was what pushed everything downhill in the first place.

And when he's finally home and alone, he can't stand the thought of her skin under his fingers, or not imagine what she feels like from the inside. Or how her wavy hair would look lovely wreathed around her flushed face. 

Finally he gives in halfway; he does it quickly and efficiently. He takes a shower, but he cannot wash away the shame, or the vulgar urges that have only strengthened by his weak restraint moments ago.

They go on with their relationship, avoiding rooms alone or more than a few kisses. It's tedious, but it keeps them from a lapse in judgment. Still, when they hold hands-- especially under the table-- there is an affectionate tension. There is the thought of releasing the other's hand and reaching. Just reaching--

He wonders if someone notices the flush not only on his face but his perspiring neck as well. He agonizes that someone sees her hand kneading the front of his pants as she oh so casually sips her tea. Meanwhile, his tea sloshes all over the table, the cup shaking in his hand.

And when they finally leave the restaurant, he's fighting a losing battle. She veers him towards his house as he scrambles to put sense back into both of them.

“I can't stand it anymore,” she says huddling closer to him, while still dragging him. He feels the curve of her breast against his arm and deems it wonderful.

It all happens too fast, but they feel every moment to the fullest. She steals the keys from his pocket and invites herself in, pulling Layton after her. The door closes-- later, neither remembers who shuts it. 

And they are back where they left off weeks ago. She whispers, “I want to feel you,” under her breath as he slips her clothes off. When she's stripped to her bra he takes his time, rolling his cupped hands over her breasts, kissing her fiercely, guiding her to the couch. They miss, tripping in a naked heap on the floor. There is a moment of pain, followed by laughter, then passion. 

He takes her glasses off and sets them carefully on the table nearby. She's naked and beautiful underneath him, her legs around his waist, and still, he's hesitant. He knows this is wrong, right now, unmarried.

The man in him cannot stand to ignore her like this. He pushes, pressing his body to hers. Immediately she holds him tight, as if anticipating him to have second thoughts even now.

She's warm, and so beautiful. Her voice carries tunes he has never heard in octaves he thinks will wake the neighbors. How can he possibly pull back from her intense heat or her nipples grazing his chest? 

Claire realizes he won't let go. She takes her arms from around him and raises them over her head. Her hips roll with his thrusts and when he pauses, her hips make circles that drive him mad, that encourage him to pin her down. 

No. He waits. Not out of shame, but out of need. He can't have it end so soon. It's not enough. He hasn't felt her long enough. 

“Her- Hershel!” The whole of her pale body is flushed and squirming under him, moving with and against his thrusts. He can feel her tighten sporadically around him, and then and then--

He groans, his body rigid but his nerves a tingling bundle. When his vision clears, he sees her limp, eyes aglaze, watching him from the corner of her eye (as much as she can without her glasses).

Layton lays down on the floor beside her and pulls her into his arms. He thinks about getting up from the floor, but he doesn't have the energy to bother.

They felt so happy then. Layton was tickled to think that they would love each other dearly at night and wake peacefully to the other by their side. 

“I'm here,” she would say smiling.

X

Claire wasn't there. He had dreamed that she was curled up to him, his back facing her, that he could feel the round, protruding tummy she loathed. 

“He's here,” she said in his dream, placing his hand over her belly.

Neither of them were there, only the ashes of a building and the life that could have been.


End file.
